


Scar Tissue

by Diabolus_Invictus



Category: Jurassic Park III (2001)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 14:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11209740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diabolus_Invictus/pseuds/Diabolus_Invictus
Summary: [Following the events of the movie, Alan has to determine where the pieces have fallen. Evolution, it seems, is an inevitable thing.]Nobody was going to want a tour guide who flinched at loud noises and sudden movements, who limped around with a white-knuckled grip on a temporary cane, whose default expression seemed to be an exhausted sort of scowl…Concerned, Alan took up his usual post, watching from a distance and trying to understand the why of the problem (despite the nagging and completely inappropriate thought that paleontologists generally used their hands to figure things out). Still, he was convinced that his involvement would only make a complete mess of what already promised to be a long and bitter recovery. Illogically, he’d been expecting Billy to bounce back, to somehow walk away from Isla Sorna without losing the spring in his step.But something had gone wrong even since the island and Billy was getting worse each day.





	Scar Tissue

* * *

Billy returned to work on a Monday. By noon on Tuesday, the gossip around the museum was that he had been taken off of tours. Alan found himself at the curator’s office door before he’d even decided why he was there. 

“Bob. Do you have a minute?” 

The curator looked up from his computer screen and gave a good-natured groan, waving him in. “Ah, Dr. Grant. I should’ve been expecting you. God knows Brennan’s in here giving me hell if I so much as look sideways at your budget. Have a seat.”

Alan pulled up a chair. “Why did you take him off tours? He’s one of the best you’ve got.” 

“He’s not ready to be back here yet.” 

“You didn’t give him a chance,” Alan protested. “The doctors say he’s ready.” 

“I don’t give a good goddamn what the doctors say. Have you looked at him, Alan?” 

And that was all it took for Alan to realize that he hadn’t. Not really. Waiting in the hospital for Billy to regain consciousness after his surgery, Alan had discovered that he could hardly look at the young man without feeling sick with guilt, so he tried not to look too closely these days. But when he did, the curator’s decision became painfully obvious. 

It was the healthy, enthusiastic, smiling Billy Brennan who could parade all manner of crowds through the exhibits and right into the gift shop at the end. It was that Billy who charmed the donations right out of their wallets and easily extracted promises to return. 

Nobody was going to want a tour guide who flinched at loud noises and sudden movements, who limped around with a white-knuckled grip on a temporary cane, whose default expression seemed to be an exhausted sort of scowl…

Concerned, Alan took up his usual post, watching from a distance and trying to understand the why of the problem (despite the nagging and completely inappropriate thought that paleontologists generally used their hands to figure things out). Still, he was convinced that his involvement would only make a complete mess of what already promised to be a long and bitter recovery. Illogically, he’d been expecting Billy to bounce back, to somehow walk away from Isla Sorna without losing the spring in his step. 

But something had gone wrong even since the island and Billy was getting worse each day. 

* 

That Friday, as if the universe decided that it hadn’t thrown nearly enough at them already, the last big sponsor lost interest in the dig and decided to pull their funding. The apologetic but firmly worded notice arrived late in the afternoon and Alan retreated to his office at the university, frustrated and defeated. It was still far too early in the evening to be drowning his sorrows in anything other than mind-numbing paperwork. That was when Billy had finally tracked him down. 

“Well, that’s two jobs gone since I got back,” Billy remarked by way of greeting, limping into Alan’s office to take up residence in the visitor chair. “It’s probably a record. Newspapers should be notified.”

“Don’t write off the dig yet,” Alan said without looking up. “There’s always next spring.” His eyes were on the papers in front of him but he was trying to figure out why Billy was there in the first place. It was Friday night, after all, and they’d come to the tacit agreement years ago that Billy was his own man on Friday nights. 

Stealing a glance at the calendar (yes, definitely Friday) Alan’s gaze got sidetracked on the way back to his notes and slid over to Billy instead. The circles under Billy’s eyes were too dark and his skin was too pale. More than tired, he looked haggard, hunted. (“I don’t think he’s sleeping,” the curator had confided. “You and Ellie were never this bad after Nublar.”) Billy had his elbows propped up on the desk as he toyed with something small and angular in his fingers.

“What’ve you got there?” Alan asked. 

He had a hunch what it was, having watched Billy get himself cornered by that girl earlier today at the school. (Shirley? Carol? Alan just knew her as ‘The B-minus who fixes her makeup in class’.) He’d been standing too far away to make out exactly what she’d pressed into his hands, but Billy’s unguarded reaction and subsequent broken-glass smile had left Alan with an educated guess.

“A present from Cheryl,” Billy said, and tossed it onto Alan’s notes. 

The little pteranodon landed belly-up, TAIWAN printed in raised plastic letters on one outstretched wing. Alan picked it up for closer examination and found the plastic still warm and malleable from Billy’s hands.

“They’ve done the wings all wrong,” he noted. 

Billy shot him a dry look. “I noticed.” 

“Also seems fairly tasteless, as far as gifts go.” 

There was an absolutely horrifying moment of silence during which Alan came to the conclusion that not even Ian Malcolm would have dared to say something that blunt, but then Billy chuckled and Alan remembered how to breathe again. 

“It is kind of awful, isn’t it? I didn’t know what I supposed to say. ‘Gee, thanks, this looks just like the one that almost got me!’ I can’t even look at it without…” Billy trailed off, his smile faltering. “Well, it’s nice to know she’s glad I’m not dead anyway,” he finished. Rather pointedly. 

“Everyone’s glad to have you back in one piece,” Alan said. He held the toy out. Billy made no motion to take it back. 

“But I make you uncomfortable now, don’t I?” His tone was a little too measured.

Alan sighed, leaning back in his chair. You don’t make me uncomfortable. You scare me to death. “Generally speaking, people make me uncomfortable, Billy.” 

“I didn’t used to be ‘people’,” Billy murmured. Alan was inexplicably reminded of Ellie when she had finally traded in their strange half-romance for simple friendship instead. He leapt for a change of subject before the silence could grow awkward. 

“It’s Friday night,” Alan said. “You should be out with your friends.” 

Billy just looked at him for a moment, his expression veiled, then shoved his chair back and got stiffly to his feet. “Sure. I’ll see you around.” He started for the door with note-worthy speed for someone relying on a cane and was halfway into the hallway by the time Alan got to his feet. 

“Billy, wait…” 

Unlike the last time Alan had made that request, Billy stopped, leaning against the doorframe but not turning around. Alan walked around the desk to join him, unsure of exactly what was going on here but instinctively realizing that it would be wrong to let Billy leave like this. He hesitated, his hand near Billy’s shoulder, uncertain where he could touch without provoking a flinch. 

“It’s okay, I get it,” Billy said, finally looking at him. (Alan quickly let his hand drop.) “I mean, I’m sick of me these days. It would hardly be fair to expect…” He stopped, swallowed hard. “Do you still hate me, Alan?” 

“Hate you?” Alan echoed, scrambling to keep up. 

“I’d give anything to take it back,” Billy said, painfully earnest. “Anything. And I understand if you need your space, but I just… I don’t know how to fix this if you hate me.” 

“My god, Billy, is that what all of this is about?” Alan said, “I was angry with you for five minutes. I admit my timing could’ve been better, but I never hated you. Of all the idiotic things…”

“But, you said…” 

“I know exactly what I said,” Alan interrupted, “As far as parting words go, they weren’t ideal.” He broke off with an exasperated sigh. “You’re ridiculous.”

Billy looked briefly shocked, but it soon gave way to a tentative smile. “I am?” 

“Completely,” Alan assured him, and that made Billy grin outright. (God, Alan had missed him.) 

“You’ve been avoiding me all week,” Billy commented lightly. 

Alan cleared his throat. “Well. It’s possible that I’m also ridiculous,” he said. 

“Completely ridiculous?” 

“Moderately ridiculous,” Alan corrected, smiling, and because he didn’t know what still hurt, he gently touched Billy’s cheek. Then Billy’s arms were suddenly around him, the cane clattering to the floor, and Alan had to brace himself to keep them from both from falling over as he got the life hugged out of him. 

“Sorry,” Billy mumbled into his shoulder. 

Alan shook his head, unsure if Billy was apologizing for the hug or what had happened on the island, none of it necessary right now. He stroked Billy’s back and felt little tremors go through the man, from pain or exhaustion or emotion. 

Sooner or later, Alan realized, he was going to have to deal with the unsettling but increasingly indisputable fact that Billy had been more distressed at losing Alan’s approval than he had by nearly being eaten alive. And that even holding Billy like this, as close and intimate as they’d ever been, felt like not enough. 

“Bob thinks you’re not sleeping,” he said quietly. 

Billy gave a choked laugh against Alan’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t be having nightmares if I wasn’t sleeping, would I? I don’t know how you held it together all this time, Alan.” He pulled away, visibly trying to compose himself. Alan picked up the cane for him to give him a moment. “How could you stand us?”

“You never gave me any trouble,” Alan assured him. He paused and braced himself to ask a stupid question that was even stupider for not having been asked sooner. “How are you?” 

Billy spread his hands and shrugged eloquently, trying out a smile. “I’ll be okay,” he said, and the unspoken ‘now’ was as clear as if he’d yelled it. Billy took the cane from him, straightening Alan’s collar with his free hand like he’d somehow put it in disarray. “Would it be all right if I stuck around for a bit? If you don’t mind the company.” 

“I have an article you could help me proof,” Alan offered. 

“Gee, Alan, on a first date?” Billy shot back, looking at him through his eyelashes, and Alan knew things would turn out alright if Billy was flirting again. The man flirted constantly, almost unconsciously, with students and tourists and hapless paleontologists who never knew quite what to make of it.

“You should hear what I have in mind for the second. Make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing to the small couch beside the bookshelf and moving to get the papers. The little pteranodon was still lying on top of his notes. Alan slipped it into his pocket. 

When he turned around again, Billy had taken him at his word and made himself comfortable. (Actually, the word ‘sprawled’ came readily to mind.) Billy was looking around his office as if he hadn’t just been in here last week, leaning against the arm of the couch with one foot up on the cushions. 

“When were you and Bob gossiping about me anyway?” Billy asked. 

“Earlier.” Alan handed him the article and a pen before heading back to his seat at the desk. “Forget about the tours. I still need an assistant.” 

“I’ll get the damn job back,” Billy muttered. The rest of Alan’s comment seemed to sink in a few seconds later. “Although I’ve mentioned how incredibly grateful I am that you didn’t fire me, haven’t I?” he tacked on with a self-depreciating grin. 

“Completely ridiculous,” Alan sighed, and was rewarded with a huff of laughter. 

There was a brief bit of banter over the title of the article (“Do you want people to read it or are we deliberately trying to scare them off now?”) but when the silence settled in this time, it was the comfortable kind, punctuated only by the ticking clock and the occasional scratching of Billy’s pen. It was such a blessed relief after this awful week that Alan wanted to thank him. He couldn’t keep from stealing glances. He’s here, he’s alive, he’s alright… we’re alright. 

Within half an hour, Billy had dozed off, his chin resting on his chest in a way that looked entirely uncomfortable. Alan went to him and crouched down next to the couch, retrieving the paper that was slipping from Billy’s fingers. Billy’s eyes fluttered partially open. “This doesn’t mean your article’s boring,” he mumbled, half-awake. The man’s sense of priority continued to be nothing short of horrifying. 

“Lie down,” Alan told him, his arm around Billy’s shoulders. “You could use the rest.” 

Billy smiled sleepily and lay back willingly under his hands, and suddenly it was all too close, too intimate. Alan felt himself flush and tried to gracefully disentangle himself, but his own body rebelled against him and, against all logic, he somehow wound up stroking Billy’s hair. There were things he wanted to do when he got too close to Billy like this… things that would most certainly qualify as Very Bad Ideas… 

“If you’re going to kiss me, you should probably do it before I fall asleep,” Billy murmured, looking up at him. 

Alan froze. (He’d had good luck in the past with freezing when impossible things suddenly came his way.) 

“Oh jeez, Alan,” Billy sighed, then leaned up and kissed him. 

Billy’s kiss was surprisingly gentle, bordering on chaste, exhaustion turning his movements languid. Alan felt Billy tremble with the effort of propping himself up and slid his arm under his back to support him, reeling with the luxury of being able to touch him so freely, melting into him. He shut his eyes and abandoned himself to the heat and taste of Billy’s mouth for a far too brief moment. 

“See?” Billy whispered, his lips still brushing Alan’s. “Not as scary as dinosaurs, is it?” 

Alan, with his heart racing, begged to differ. But true to his word, Billy’s eyes had already fallen shut and he appeared to be well on the way to real sleep already. Alan swallowed and shook his head, marveling that his notion of ‘giving Billy space’ had turned out to be one of the worst decisions in a week just thick with extraordinarily bad choices. He made a motion that began as checking the bandage on Billy’s forehead and somehow wound up tracing the line of Billy’s jaw with his fingertips. 

We’ll talk about this tomorrow, Alan decided ruefully, getting to his feet. We’ll definitely have to talk about it.

*

They didn’t talk about it. 

On the other hand, things didn’t change drastically either. Billy was a little bit quieter, a little less reckless, and Alan was oh-so-careful that his usual teasing didn’t cross the line, but the usual camaraderie gradually slipped back in. The kiss was never brought up and Alan imagined that Billy (incurable thrill-seeker that he was) had merely gone slightly crazy for a moment due to exhaustion and a very likely overindulgence in painkillers. These things happened. 

Billy’s bandages came off and he developed a habit of rubbing at the newly uncovered scars on his arms, on his throat, absently trying to erase them with his fingertips. It drove Alan crazy, made his own fingers itch to touch. That was new too; Billy used to be dangerous in close proximity. Now even a deliberate glance from across a room… across a lobby, across the rapidly vanishing dig… would render Alan hopelessly distracted. 

And then Billy lost the cane, gamely limping around the museum with the curator in tow, all smiles, even if he did have to lean on the info plaques every once in a while. He had his tour gig back within the hour, and from what Alan saw, the smile was the deciding factor. They didn’t waste any time and had him greeting his first group later that afternoon. Technically Alan was supposed to be heading up to the dig site to ensure that things would be wrapped up before the ground froze, but he also knew that the Kirby’s (in all their frustrating naivety) had talked to a few reporters since they’d been home, and Alan wanted to make sure that Billy was only dealing with the usual museum-goers and not the more tenacious strain of Jurassic Park enthusiasts. 

Billy certainly didn’t seem to be having any problems when Alan caught up with them, trying to be inconspicuous. Billy was doing his crowd-pleasing thing, laying on the charm in that way that would usually make Alan call him over just to reassure himself that Billy would always come to him. Today it was such relief to see that Alan found himself caught up and trailed along after them, right from the Triassic section through to Cretaceous before he realized what he was doing. Leading the pack, Billy made a grand flourish towards the plesiosaur model overhead, and when the group looked up in unison, Billy caught Alan’s eye and winked. 

So Alan followed him all the way to the Burgess Shale exhibit at the end of the tour, letting Billy send the visitors off to empty their wallets at the gift shop before he slipped into the room and took a seat on the front row bench. The little theatre was already darkening again, beginning its next automated mini-lecture. The blue spotlights picked out individual figures in the display at the front of the room, Opabinia and graceful Anomalocaris, and the gurgling soundtrack almost made you believe you really were watching the prehistoric ocean come to life. 

The far door clicked shut. Billy sat down next to him on the bench a few moments later, bumping his shoulder lightly against Alan’s. “What’s Dr. Grant’s expert opinion? Good as new? Feel free to stroke my ego and tell me the scars add an air of mystery.” 

Of course he simply had to mention the scars, didn’t he? Alan rubbed his hands together, resting them on his knees, then on the bench. “You’ll always be a mystery, Billy. And Bob could’ve had you back on the job days ago.” 

“Thanks,” said Billy. “So, what’s up?” Alan wasn’t here about the tour and they both knew it. Alan cleared his throat and summoned his courage. 

“The Northern plover,” he started, then stopped because Billy had laughed. 

“Sorry, sorry. I just wasn’t expecting that. Tell me about the plover.” 

Alan glanced over at him, saw that damned bemused smile flash in the half-light. “It’s a master of distraction,” he continued after a moment. “If a predator approaches its nesting ground, it fakes a broken wing and draws the predator away from the nest. The predator thinks it’s found an easy meal, thinks it’s in control, and it’s just being lead right where the plover wants it to go.” 

Billy blinked. “You lost me. Am I the bird?” His expression fell. “You think I’m faking?”

“No! No, of course not, never mind. It was a bad metaphor,” Alan muttered. He rubbed his hand over his mouth with nervous frustration. “What’s happening here, Billy?” 

“The most evasive conversation ever spoken, I’m pretty sure,” Billy said. “Plovers. Jesus. You want me to show you how a metaphor’s supposed to work?” 

“I’m all ears,” Alan said dryly. 

“Evolution,” Billy told him, nodding towards the continuing show at the front of the room and simultaneously slipping his hand on to Alan’s knee. “Things started out one way and then conditions changed. And everything had to adapt. You couldn’t go through something like that without changing. So things got a little more complex. Maybe a little harder to understand. But that didn’t make it worse, or something to be sorry about. It was just… new. That’s all.”

His hand crept up Alan’s leg, warm and trembling just a little, and Alan suddenly realized how wrong he’d been. Billy was just as caught up in this as he was. Billy, who would always come when Alan called him, and present him with newfound fossils and plaster prototypes and, god help him, raptor eggs, all with Alan’s best interests in mind. Who, upon losing Alan’s approval, felt that he had nothing left to lose at all. It was terrifying and real and neither of them knew exactly where this was heading. That was how evolution worked. 

“Yours was better,” Alan agreed. 

Billy chuckled. “I might’ve been putting a bit of thought into it. And I was up against plovers.” There was a pause, and Alan wanted to reach out and find Billy with his hands, more reassuring contact than that too-light brush of Billy’s fingers at the crease of his jeans. “Hey, Alan?” Billy’s voice was soft, almost pleading. “If you’re planning on shutting me down, you’ve got about three seconds to stop me before I do something really stupid here.” 

Alan drew a breath. “Well, the warning’s nice,” he said, and then took Billy’s face in his hands and kissed him like he’d wanted to on the helicopter, with all the passion that he’d held in check for far too long. Billy made a quiet noise, surprise and pleasure, and kissed him back fiercely, twisting on the bench to get closer. 

When they parted for a moment, Billy was breathing hard, clutching almost unconsciously at Alan’s shirt like he’d lose him if he let go. “Good thing you kiss better than you metaphor, huh?” 

“You know, I don’t think you can actually use ‘metaphor’ as…”

“Shh, shh, you’re ruining the moment,” Billy told him, half-laughing, and kissed him again so that Alan could feel his smile against his mouth. “I missed you,” he whispered, “God, I missed you.” 

Alan kissed the small scar on Billy’s forehead with almost vicious affection, and Billy’s breath hitched, and when Alan tugged aside the collar of Billy’s shirt, finding with his mouth the ragged claw marks in his shoulder, Billy groaned out loud. 

“You’re going to get me fired on my first day back,” Billy said breathlessly, making absolutely no motion to stop him. Alan ran his tongue over the warm, smooth skin that had somehow remained untouched by everything the island had thrown at them, and Billy made an interesting little noise in his throat that Alan definitely wanted to hear again. 

“If I were allowed to talk,” Alan commented, “I’d mention that we still need to head up to the dig to look things over. And then I might say something suggestive about spending a bit of time in the trailer while we’re there.” 

Billy grinned at him, the same old smile paired with a brand new look in his eyes. “So what are we waiting for?” 

* * * * *


End file.
